


After Summers of Fasting I Feel Hunger At Last

by WonkyWarmaiden



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22815907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonkyWarmaiden/pseuds/WonkyWarmaiden
Summary: As if destiny herself is listening in on Jaskier’s thoughts the tavern door slams open and a gust of frozen air and snowflakes swirls through the room. Then Geralt of fucking Rivia steps inside.There are a few mutters of, “Butcher.”More still of, “White Wolf.”Jaskier can’t help the derisive snort that he buries into his mug as the bard in the corner immediately starts playing ‘Toss A Coin To Your Witcher’ and decides that he’s had about enough excitement for tonight, thank you, especially when Yennefer steps in after Geralt.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 43
Kudos: 960





	After Summers of Fasting I Feel Hunger At Last

**Author's Note:**

> Never read the books. Never played the games. Seen two episodes of the show. Everything is probably horribly out of character but just go with it.
> 
> Title is from 'Battle Cries' by The Amazing Devil which was basically on loop as I wrote this.

Jaskier sits, nursing his mug of shitty ale, in the tavern of a village he can’t remember the name of. The fire in the hearth burns bright and staves off the frigid wind from the blizzard that’s been battering the small settlement for the last three days. Half the population is stuffed into the building, looking to warm themselves by the fire or with a cup of, if Jaskier could reiterate, truly horrendous ale.

There’s a young bard in the corner playing an ancient looking fiddle that’s slightly out of tune, she’s trying to get the crowd going but three days straight of snow and wind have sucked away any liveliness that may have previously existed in the villagers.

Not to mention the news coming out of Cintra.

All dead, no survivors; that’s what the rumors were. Jaskier had decided to find out if they were true. He spent most of his coin hitching a ride to the border only to smell blood and ash on the wind when he got there. From the back of a merchant caravan he watched Cintra burn and tried to hold back his sobs. The royal family was dead. Princess Cirilla presumed among them. Jaskier had cursed Geralt’s name until he grew hoarse and the merchants looked at him like he was mad.

If Geralt had only been there, she might still be…

Jaskier shakes his head and shoves away the what-ifs and takes another swallow of his drink.

Geralt made his choice. Princess Cirilla was just one of many casualties.

As if destiny herself is listening in on Jaskier’s thoughts the tavern door slams open and a gust of frozen air and snowflakes swirls through the room. Then Geralt of fucking Rivia steps inside.

There are a few mutters of, “Butcher.”

More still of, “White Wolf.”

Jaskier can’t help the derisive snort that he buries into his mug as the bard in the corner immediately starts playing ‘Toss A Coin To Your Witcher’ and decides that he’s had about enough excitement for tonight, thank you, especially when Yennefer steps in after Geralt.

They probably won’t recognize him right off; his hair’s longer, there’s stubble on his jaw and he’s wearing a rather boring outfit compared to his usual silks but still, he doesn’t want to risk it. So as the duo steps over to the bar Jaskier takes that as his chance and he makes his way towards the stairs that lead up to the rentable rooms above the tavern.

He’ll be gone before dawn.

He gets to his room and immediately starts packing his things.

Lute first, what little good it’s done him. Ever since the mountain he hasn’t had much creativity, as if Geralt stripped away all of Jaskier’s talent and inspiration with that bullshit outburst of his.

Notebook next, its pages more full of scratched out lines than anything resembling lyrics.

Last come his clothes; simple but sturdy shirts and pants that last him better than his previous attire ever did. Cheaper and warmer too. No reason to dress like that anymore, royals aren’t exactly falling over themselves to invite a has-been bard to their courts these days. Especially when said bard refuses to play anything he composed while traveling with a certain Witcher.

He checks the coin purse tied at his hip and tries to ignore how light it is.

The sound of heavy boots in the hall outside makes Jaskier freeze. He’d know that menacing gait anywhere. Geralt pauses in front of his door and Jaskier hears a curious inhalation before the Witcher continues on his way to the next room over.

Fuck.

Geralt with his damned sniffing. Jaskier needs to leave now.

He contemplates jumping from the window for half a moment but he doesn’t fancy a rolled ankle, or worse, so he waits until he hears Geralt settling in for the night before cautiously opening his door and peeking out into the hall. It seems safe enough so he starts for the stairs.

Only to nearly collide with Yennefer at the top of the staircase.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbles out, letting his hair fall from behind his ear and block his face from her scrutiny. 

He doesn't wait for Yennefer’s reply, just turns and takes the stairs two at a time. Jaskier stumbles on the bottom step when he hears the bard butchering ‘Her Sweet Kiss’ and his brain so kindly reminds him exactly where Yennefer is heading, whose room she’s going to.

Fuck all of this, he’d rather die of hypothermia.

With that thought he pushes out into the night and immediately gets a face full of snow. Fighting through the blizzard to the stables around the corner he steps inside to see a familiar chestnut mare in the stall next to his own gray horse, Periwinkle.

“Ah, Roach, at least you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he sighs and pulls a couple of carrots from his bag, received as payment for his last lackluster performance a few nights ago. He holds one out to her and pets her snout as she eats. “How have things been, my dear?”

Roach lets out a huff.

“That terrible, hm?”

She finishes the carrot and nudges her head against his chest, making him laugh.

As he feeds her the second carrot he leans forward to give her neck a gentle pat. “Just… take care of him, alright?” Jaskier whispers, picking a stray bit of straw from her mane. “We both know how big of an idiot he can be.”

When she gives a whinny Jaskier takes it as agreement and moves to his own horse to get him ready for the cold journey ahead. Out of the corner of his eye Jaskier spots a dark shape standing in the stables doorway.

He hides his face and hopes that Geralt is just here to brush down Roach.

“Jaskier.”

Fuck. Goddamned Witcher senses.

He pretends to not hear.

Geralt moves closer and Jaskier busies himself with carrying his tack over to Periwinkle’s stall and dropping it there.

“Jaskier.”

With a sigh he squeezes his eyes shut and scrubs a hand over his face.

“What do you want, Geralt?” he asks finally, not bothering to turn around.

Gods, he’s tired. Has been since he walked back down that fucking mountain all alone.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s not what Jaskier’s expecting and it makes him spin around in bewilderment. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Geralt repeats, and damn him but he looks sincere. “For what I said to you. It was unfair.”

“That’s certainly one word for it,” Jaskier mutters and leans back against the stall door. “What brought this on? You’re not dying, are you?”

Geralt huffs. “No. It’s just, things have changed.”

“Mm, I see you and Yennefer worked things out,” Jaskier says, trying to sound casual and failing horribly.

Geralt’s eyes go soft at the mention of the witch. “Yes.”

Ah, there it is. That cold grasp around his heart. He certainly hasn’t missed that.

“Right. Good, “ Jaskier bites out. “Great.” He makes himself look away from Geralt’s mesmerizing eyes. “Anything else?”

That makes Geralt’s brow furrow. “Jaskier…”

“What, Geralt?” Jaskier feels a slightly hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. “You waltz in here with your fucking apologies and expect me to just forgive you?”

“Of course not,” Geralt says with a roll of his eyes.

Jaskier shoots him a glare. “Good, because I’m not going to,” he declares defiantly. “You were a right bastard to me, Geralt, all because Yennefer left you. Yet here you two are, back together, and I’m stuck with a broken heart.”

“I never meant to break your heart, Jaskier.”

“Really? What exactly did you think would happen when you yelled at me, hm?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Geralt admits. “I just wanted to be alone.”

Jaskier lets out a humorless laugh. “Wish granted, Geralt.”

With that he moves to push past Geralt but the Witcher snags him by the arm, stopping the bard in his tracks.

“Let go,” Jaskier demands, giving an embarrassingly ineffectual tug at the grip the other man has on him.

“Not until I’ve said my piece.”

“Oh, I think you’ve said plenty already-”

“Let me fucking speak, bard!” Geralt growls irritably, giving Jaskier a quick shake.

Jaskier clamps his mouth shut.

Geralt lets out a calming breath before continuing. “I’m not… good at this shit, words and such.”

“Understatement,” Jaskier mutters.

Geralt shoots him an exasperated look and releases Jaskier’s arm, stepping closer until he’s fully in Jaskier’s space. “Allow me to show you instead?” he asks and waits for Jaskier’s cautious nod before leaning in and pressing his lips against the bard’s.

Jaskier releases a soft noise of surprise and tilts up into the kiss. It’s a soft and chaste thing and it’s over before it starts but it sets Jaskier’s fool heart beating wildly in his chest. He sags back against the stall door once they part and stares up at Geralt questioningly.

Jaskier finds enough of his voice to say, ”But, you and Yennefer?”

“Just friends,” Geralt says with a shake of his head. “I’m still trying to find what pleases me, we both decided it wasn’t her.”

“And this?” Jaskier dares to ask, gesturing between them. “I know I was never subtle, what with the songs and such, but you never seemed interested.” An unsettling thought hits him. “This isn’t some sort of pity thing, is it? Because if it is-”

“No,” Geralt answers quickly and adamantly, cupping the bard’s cheek. “Fuck, Jaskier, no. Never.”

“Oh.” Jaskier lets out a soft breath of relief. “Good. So what is it?”

“I just- you left, you weren’t there and I thought that was what I wanted but then you weren’t there for fucking years and I, fuck, I realized how fucking stupid I’d been and I tried to find you but you were always gone by the time I got there.”

“I left whenever I heard there was a Witcher nearby. You said you wanted me gone.”

“I know, gods, I know what I fucking said and I regret all of it, Jaskier. You left because I told you to and everyday since I’ve regretted not chasing after you. Because years passed and you weren’t there and I- I-”

Jaskier pulls Geralt into his arms as the other man struggles to breathe. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m here now,” he murmurs against the Witcher’s temple.

“Stay,” Geralt pleads softly, pressing a warm hand between Jaskier’s shoulder blades. “If you want to. Stay.”

“If that’s what you want, Geralt, then you won’t be rid of me again.”

“It is.”

Jaskier closes his eyes and holds on tighter to the man in his arms. “Good."

Yennefer finds them like that ten minutes later.

“Oh wonderful, you two made up,” she says, trying to sound anything but pleased. “Geralt, now that you have your bard back can we please get out of this freezing little shithole of a town?”

With a reluctant grunt, Geralt extricates himself from Jaskier grasp.

“Wait, what?” Jaskier balks and looks to Geralt for an explanation. “You were here for me? I thought you were here for a monster or something.”

“Oh no,” Yennefer answers instead. “Your dear Witcher demanded I teleport him here the instant I told him an associate of mine saw you here not a day ago.”

“Really?” Jaskier asks Geralt.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier smiles fondly. “Ah, there he is. Wondered where that grumpy bastard had got to,” he says and plants a quick kiss on Geralt’s cheek.

Geralt ducks his head.

“If Witchers could blush,” Yennefer teases, chuckling at the glare that gets her.

“Let’s just go, Yenn,” Geralt grumbles. He moves to release Roach from her stall, then does the same for Periwinkle without a word.

Jaskier picks up his lute and bag. “So, where are we headed?” he asks.

“Hopefully somewhere with better fashion,” Yennefer replies with a long and disdainful look at Jaskier’s outfit.

Jaskier does a little twirl and gives her a bow. “I call it Depression Chic, it’s very in this season. How cold are your tits in that dress, anyway?” He eyes her plunging neckline with a wince.

“Very, actually,” she says irritably. “So if we could hurry this up.”

“Alright, alright,” Geralt sighs as he walks up beside Jaskier, Roach and Periwinkle’s reins held in either hand.

“Finally,” Yennefer mutters and with a twirl of her wrist a portal swirls into existence in front of them.

Jaskier glances nervously over at Geralt.

The Witcher inclines his head. “After you.”

“Right, of course, just going to step through, any minute now.” He pauses. “Geralt, really, maybe you should-”

Jaskier lets out a manly scream as two sets of hands push him towards the portal.

“Oh, fuck both of you,” he gets out before tumbling headfirst through the portal.

Jaskier clings tightly to his lute and closes his eyes as he waits for gravity to start existing again. His back hits cold stone and he blinks his eyes open to stare around the snow strewn courtyard he finds himself laying in the middle of.

A crescent moon smiles down from the from the star litterd sky above him and while he can still smell winter on the wind it’s a nice reprieve from the endless blizzard from the little town he’s just come from.

Kaer Morhen then, if the dizzyingly tall stone towers and breathtaking mountain views are anything to go by. Geralt hadn’t done it justice with the few descriptions Jaskier had been able to coerce from him.

There are several pops of displaced air as Geralt, Yennefer and the horses come through the portal as well. Roach seems fine but Periwinkle looks about ready to bolt, poor thing. Geralt reaches out cautiously and calms the horse with a few touches and soft words, enough so that he can lead the horses the rest of the way to the stables in the corner of the courtyard.

“How was the trip, bard?” Yennefer asks with a grin.

Jaskier sits up slowly. “Not that bad, actually,” he says, surprised.

Then he pukes all over Yennefer’s expensive shoes.

“Sorry.”

Yennefer closes her eyes and lets out a long, put upon sigh. “I’m going to take a bath. If you or Geralt disturb me for anything that isn’t life threatening for the rest of the night, I can promise that you won’t like the consequences, bard.”

With that she turns on her heel and stalks away.

“Understood. Thank you, Yennefer,” Jaskier calls to her retreating back.

He stands, legs a bit wobbly, and heads in the direction of the stables. He finds Geralt brushing Roach down, Periwinkle already stalled and eating from a bundle of hay. Jaskier sits on a nearby hay bale, placing his lute and bag off to the side as he listens to Geralt rumble lowly to Roach.

Jaskier smiles, watching the Witcher dote on his beloved steed. “I’ve missed this,” he sighs wistfully, resting a cheek on his fist. “Being jealous of a bloody horse.”

Geralt lifts an eyebrow and sets the brush on a barrel to the side of Roach’s stall. He closes Roach in for the night and stalks over to Jaskier. He insinuates himself between Jaskier’s thighs before catching the speechless bard by the chin and leaning in for a kiss.

“Wait,” Jaskier hurries to say, holding Geralt in place with a hand on his chest. Before Geralt can get the wrong idea, Jaskier gives him an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, it’s just that I threw up all over Yennefer’s very fancy shoes only moments ago, so I’m afraid my mouth isn’t exactly spring fresh right now.”

“Shame,” Geralt murmurs. He seems distracted, one hand gently brushing away a lock of hair that keeps falling into Jaskier’s eyes.

“Geralt?”

The Witcher seems to snap out of whatever trance he’s under. “Your hair, uh, it looks good like this,” he says, clearing his throat and beginning to step away.

Jaskier stops him by catching Geralt’s hand in his. “You can admit that you like things, Geralt, even the scraggly bard sitting in front of you. I promise I won’t tell anyone.” He presses a kiss to Geralt’s palm.

“You’re not scraggly,” Geralt huffs, sinking his hand into Jaskier’s hair and pulling until the bard can do nothing but bare his throat. Geralt lets out a contented growl, nosing at the pale flesh on display.

“No, don’t do your sniffing thing,” Jaskier whines but makes no move to stop the other man. “I haven’t bathed in two days because of that damn blizzard.” That earns him something closer to a purr and Geralt sinks lower to snuffle at the spot where Jaskier’s neck meets his shoulder.

Jaskier hears an excited exclamation of, “Geralt! Your’re back!” before a blur of blonde hair and blue cloak leaps onto the Witcher’s back, pushing him further down onto Jaskier who wheezes at the sudden weight of a fully armored Witcher pressing on his lungs.

“Ciri, get off,” Geralt orders and rights himself.

The name makes Jaskier’s eyes snap to the girl as she hops down and he gasps. “Princess,” he chokes out. 

The girl stares at him with suspicion until he sees recognition rekindle in her icy gaze. “Julian! Where have you been?”

Jaskier gives her a tearful laugh and pulls her into a hug. “I should be asking you that, my dear.”

“You two know each other?” Geralt asks, confused.

Ciri pulls back enough to explain. “Julian played at all of my birthday banquets.”

“Did he now?” Geralt asks and raises an eyebrow at Jaskier. 

“Well, all except the last few. Where did you go, Julian? I missed your music, the other bards were so boring in comparison.”

“Ah, sorry, little cub, I… lost my muse for a while.” He sends a glance Geralt’s way. “But I found him again and I promise, I’ll write you the best song you’ll ever hear.”

“Just make it happy, Julian. No more sad songs.”

“Of course! “Jaskier declares. “A song of daring princesses, knights in smelly armor, scary but amazing witches and roguishly handsome bards. It will be a masterpiece, perhaps even my magnum opus.”

“My armor doesn’t smell,” Geralt grumps.

“Of course not, Geralt. It’s purely artistic license,” Jaskier promises before pretending to wave away a stench as Geralt turns his back to them.

Ciri hides her giggles behind her hand.

Geralt pretends not to notice any of it as he leads them from the stables and into the keep proper.

“Come on, Ciri, off to bed with you,” Geralt says, ignoring Ciri’s groans and complaints. “You’ve got training in the morning. Go.”

Ciri sighs in defeat. “Fine. I’ll see you in the morning, won't I, Julian?”

Jaskier nods. “Bright and early. I can give you moral support while you train.”

Geralt smiles, all teeth. “Her training starts at dawn, bard. Care to join us?”

“Perhaps I’ll see you at brunch,” Jaskier amends quickly.

With a pout fitting of someone her age, Ciri stalks off muttering something about lazy bards.

Once she disappears up a winding stair case Jaskier nearly collapses with the breath he lets out. “You found her, thank the gods.”

“She found me, more like,” Geralt corrects.

“Either way, she’s here with you. She’s safe.” 

Geralt frowns. “She’ll never be safe. Not while there are people out there still hunting her.”

Jaskier steps forward and takes Geralt’s face in his lute calloused hands. “For Ciri, there is nowhere safer for her than Kaer Morhen. She has you and Yennefer to protect her.”

“Now she has you, too.”

Geralt sets his hands on Jaskier’s hips and draws the bard closer.

“Exactly. And you know how dangerous I can be in a fight.”

Geralt snorts fondly. “Maybe to yourself.”

“How dare you, good sir,” Jaskier says in mock outrage. “I’ll have you know-”

“I love you.”

Whatever stupid thing Jaskier is saying sticks in his throat. Geralt’s face is as open as Jaskier has ever seen it and it makes his heart skip a beat. There’s fear there, hope as well, and Jaskier traces his thumbs carefully across Geralt’s cheekbones.

“I love you too. Always.”

“Jaskier.”

The bard’s fingers tighten, making his Witcher look him in the eye. “Always, Geralt. Even when I’m wrinkled and gray and I can’t play my lute when it rains because the pain in my hands is too much. Even then, I will look at you and I will love you.”

“Jaskier.”

“Take me to bed, my wolf. My love”

And Geralt does, bodily lifting Jaskier off his feet and carrying him to their bedroom.


End file.
